


Persephone Will Have Her Fill

by SlytherinHowl



Category: Euphoria (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, But Before The Bridge Episode, Drug Addiction, F/F, Florence + the Machine References, Musical References, POV Second Person, References to Depression, Short One Shot, Title from a Florence + the Machine Song, Yes I'm a FATM Slut, post episode 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinHowl/pseuds/SlytherinHowl
Summary: In a depressive episode, Rue listens to the playlists Jules made for her before leaving. Inspired by "Caught", by Florence + The Machine.
Relationships: Rue Bennett/Jules Vaughn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Persephone Will Have Her Fill

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fic for Euphoria (I wrote some Rue meta over at @idrewbedraggledbreaths on Tumblr, but fic is different). It's in second person. Why? God knows, but second person helped me find Rue's inner voice. If you're not familiar with Florence + The Machine I suggest you check out the songs that are mentioned here, it makes the story clearer (and they're damn good songs. They're the best songs. Seriously, listen to Florence you won't regret it). Anyway, thanks for reading!!

Truth is, in spite of having your earpods on right now, you don’t listen to a lot of music of your own choosing. This fact surprises everyone, including yourself. Isn’t music a staple of adolescence, along with snarky behavior, substance abuse, and being glued to your phone? Uh, don’t check, check, _check_ , don’t check, also surprisingly. You will listen to what others around are listening to, but you have very little drive to search for music yourself. If your mom wants to crank up the Cyndi Lauper, Girls Just Want To Have Fun. If the rich white boys throwing whatever party you’re at can’t play anything else other than the new reggaeton song everybody pretends to know the lyrics to, you tap your foot along.

Because of that, you didn’t hesitate to listen to the many and many playlists Jules used to send you. Obsessively. Interesting taste, quirky at times. Some of it sounds really niche, reeeally alt, but eventually a more well-known artist pops in too when they fit in with the aesthetic. Eminem was definitely a surprise. You were impressed, because overall those seemingly unrelated songs worked really well, even the K-Pop ones that you would rather steer clear of since Gia started going on and on about BTS and a guy named Kookie (you humor her, but those highly synchronized dance routines unnerve you somehow, even if you like synchrony yourself). What you mean is that when you’re not binging British reality TV, you’re listening to her playlists. Were listening to them. Are listening to them. Still. Fuck, you still have her songs on replay 24/7 against your better judgment, don’t you?

Yup, you do. You’re an addict, after all, looking for your next fix of Jules. You usually pick whichever of her playlists to inject into your brain, they’re equally good. Today, however, you’re fixating on one song instead, one you’d never listened carefully enough to pay attention to the lyrics. There’s quite a lot of Florence + The Machine in her playlists and you think their music is pretty neat most of the time. You remember watching them perform on TV when you were a kid and “Dog Days Are Over” was all the rage and thinking “Damn, she’s so pretty, I wanna be her friend.” Yeah, about that ‘friend’ part…

All you know is that you sort of disengaged yourself from their music, until Jules introduced the entire discography to you. You like it, it’s deep, it’s powerful, it rips your heart out of your chest in a good way (the horny Catholic undertones are a bit much, though), yet you still struggle with the last album. When you listened to “Grace” for the first time, you _felt_ the walls melting into you, the sirens screeching. You heard Gia’s name instead. _This is the only thing I’ve ever had and faith in. Grace, I know you carry us. Grace, and it was such a mess. Grace, I don’t say it enough. You are so loved._ You made an excuse to Jules, left your bike on her lawn and _ran_. You thought about going to Fez’, but you ended up curled under the spray of your shower, you don’t know how. You still don’t know if there were tears or water droplets on your face. You were completely sober that day. You wanted to never listen to that song again and stay sober, but then…

You were caught. That’s what the song is called, the one you’ve been listening on repeat for the past three hours. It’s like when you repeat a word too many times, like llama, and by the thirtieth time you say, you’ve completely dissociated the sound from the meaning, so you’re just there, floating in that limbo. Except you’re not really immune to those lyrics, because every time the song starts again, it’s like Florence Welch has personally climbed through your bedroom window with her coven behind her and suffocated you with a pillow while she sings those notes with that perfect vibrato. You let her, because you’re not exactly in the best of places and breath play with Florence Welch might not be a bad idea. _And I’m caught. I forget all that I’ve been taught. I can’t keep calm, I can’t keep still. Pulled apart against my will._

Just like in the lyrics, you really have to keep yourself from trying and calling her. You find yourself being dragged around, day after day, in that dreamlike stillness that is the lack of Jules. You turn around like Orpheus and she’s not there. She turned around and you were there, at the platform. And salt the earth behind you and salt your eyes and salt all your wounds.

You like the fact that you knew what solipsist means without looking at Genius and how contradictory it is to have that word paired up with ‘subconscious’. You like it less when those words become a mirror, showing an image that is half you, half her. You wish it was all you, and you could have stepped into that train. You also wish it was all her, and you could shift the blame with less guilt. You wish you didn’t exist; you wish the hooks would stop pulling you apart, you wish you’d stop feeling hungry all the time with nothing to eat but poisoned food. You wish Jules would come back. 

Truth is, you don’t like to be caught anywhere. You might think you do, but when you’ve been lying in bed with those words echoing in your head for over three hours, you wish you could get out. But you can hardly move. You can hardly think, just like when you watch fifteen hours of reality TV. You’re so caught up that you don’t realize that you moved on to the next song in the album, “Third Eye”. _'Cause there's a hole where your heart lies_ _. And I can see it with my third eye. And though my touch, it magnifies. You pull away, you don't know why._ Perhaps you do, perhaps your brain gets the message Florence is trying to tell you and your last surviving brain cell makes an effort to pick up the phone. You call Ali. 

“Hey, uh… Do you want to, like, get pancakes tomorrow after the meeting, I know it’s Christmas Eve but - oh, ok. Great. Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Thanks, Ali.” 

Maybe you need to listen to more music, then maybe, _just maybe_ , you won’t be so caught anymore. 


End file.
